Tourism
by miskatonic
Summary: Here Is Cherrywood - Michiru reaches an understanding with his temporary roommate. (Mitsuru-Shinobu)
1. One way ticket

**Tourism**

**Summary:** Here Is Cherrywood! "Michiru" reaches an understanding with his temporary roommate. (Mitsuru/Shinobu)

**Disclaimer:** _Here Is Greenwood_ (koko wa guriin-uddo), created by Nasu Yukie and published by Hana to Yume Comics (Hakusensha), comprises 11 tankouban and 6 anime OAVs. Spoilers for volume 5, "Ameyadori." Mega spoilers for volume 10; Cherrywood is one of the canon alternate universes from the manga. See end of fanfic for the story summary, if needed.

**Note:** _Contains slash themes_ -- if that alarms you, please do not read it. Written for Torch, who had requested Mitsuru x Shinobu. See the 2003 WWTOYT "obscure fandom" secret santa challenge for details. (Written in two days, no beta.)

* * *

"Michiru." 

"Unnn."

"Michiru."

"Aa-a?"

"Michiru. Time to get up."

"Go 'way," Mitsuru mumbled, curling up tighter under the blankets. "No classes today, why the hell do I have to get up?"

"To go shopping," his roommate said.

"The hell?" Mitsuru moaned, rolling over. His bed-curtains were open? He stuck his head out from under the blankets and stared muzzily into a set of eyes just visible over the edge of his top bunk.

"My, what short hair you have," their owner commented.

Mitsuru blinked back in sleepy confusion.

"Not Michiru," the voice concluded. The eyes lowered from view.

Mitsuru tossed off the covers and leaned over the edge of the bunk. "Shinobu, what the hell are you--?"

His roommate, Tezuka Shinobu, awake and fully dressed, stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, gazing back at him with a patient expression. His roommate, Tezuka Shinobu, with her waist-length hair, grey mohair sweater, calf-length, pleated, maroon skirt, and brightly patterned indoor slippers. Dangling from her fingers were the sensible, low-heeled pumps that complemented her ensemble.

"Ohhhh, shit," Mitsuru groaned, as grim reality reasserted itself. This time, it hadn't been Hasukawa Kazuya but Ikeda Mitsuru who'd had a sudden public-spirited impulse to change a burned out light-tube. Some pranking moron in the Greenwood dorm had taken the warning sign off that ladder, so how the hell was he supposed to have known it was _that_ one?

Idiots deserved the idiotic things that resulted, including all-expenses-paid trips to Ourinryou Girls Dorm, aka Cherrywood.

"Shopping," Shinobu repeated. She tapped a finger on her cheek, thoughtful. "Or would Michiru prefer that we report the damage and wait for the dorm manager to deal with it after all? That may take another month."

The ladder had tumbled down after him, right into the mirror -- and shattered it. He'd sat up, dazed, in a glittering pile of shards, to find himself surrounded by shrieking girls. Behind the commotion, as usual arriving on the scene at a more stately pace, had been his roommate.

Only not. She'd studied him gravely for a moment, then said simply, "_Maa._ 'Mitsuru,' isn't it?"

He tossed himself back into the bunk with a sigh. "Just stop calling me Michiru. You're as annoying as Shinobu, you know that?"

"I _am_ Shinobu," she pointed out.

* * *

She _is_ Shinobu, Mitsuru was forced to agree, as he watched her walk down the street before him, skirt gently swaying with each step. Or a scarily reasonable feminine facsimile. The same economy of motion, the quiet refinement, the chilly intelligence, and the desert dry humor. The same distant, grey regard of the world, as though she were waiting for something to surprise her at last, with no expectation that anything ever would. 

She'd made the suggestion herself that he bunk in Michiru's bed, and hadn't turned a hair at the scandalized gasps of the other girls on the floor. Mitsuru had made gentlemanly protests, only to discover that she had no intentions of giving up her own room for his sole use that evening; she'd simply changed clothes in Shun and Hasukawa's room next-door, then padded back to slip into her own bunk with a murmured _oyasuminasai._

"But _your_ roommate," he'd started to ask.

"They are the ones who should be worried," she'd said serenely. "Michiru will have no problems."

Rooming overnight with a man in the bunk above her hadn't bothered her at all. She looked obscenely well rested.

Mitsuru couldn't make the same claim. He'd spent half the night trying to decide whether she was awake as well, before he'd finally passed out. He figured if he wanted to get enough sleep before classes began again, they'd better find a replacement mirror as soon as possible.

"_Ano,_ Michi-, er, Mitsuru-sempai. . ."

"Hmm?" Shun was saying something. Just then, the wind lifted Shinobu's skirt, affording him a rare glimpse of the full length of her calves.

"Ah! Mitsuru-sempai!" Shun shrieked.

Mitsuru walked, face-first, into the cement lamp-post.

"_Maa,_" Shinobu said softly, walking back to where Mitsuru had collapsed on the sidewalk, nursing his nose. She handed him her handkerchief. "I begin to understand at least one side of that accident with the ladder."

"Shuuduthp," Mitsuru mumbled, grabbing it.

"Mitsuru-sempai, does it hurt?" Shun said, her eyes wide with concern, holding out a handkerchief of her own.

"He'd deserve it, wouldn't he?" Hasukawa snapped. "The pervert only walked into it because he was too busy ogling Shinobu-sempai to look where he was going!" She glared down at him, hands on hips, bristling with righteous indignation.

"Suka-chaaan," Shun said, jumping on her, "Stop, stop!"

"_Sou ne._" Shinobu said. "If he is enjoying the scenery, why would I mind?"

Hasukawa, Shun, and Mitsuru all gaped at her.

"Se-sempai!" Hasukawa-chan sputtered.

With a half-lidded glance, she turned and strolled away. "The hardware store is on the next street," she said.

* * *

"They will deliver and install it on Monday morning," Shinobu told him, settling smoothly down at the kotasu in the middle of the floor, "so that will mean only two more nights." 

"You shouldn't have done that on my account," Mitsuru said grumpily, dropping down across from her. "Or spent your entire Saturday finding ways to entertain me."

"It was my New Year's money to spend," she said, pouring herself some tea. "Did you think that I would not want my own roommate back?"

"I,I didn't mean--"

"Today was not a hardship." She waved it away with a graceful hand. "You needn't be concerned about the money. I expect to have it back by the end of the week."

"You _didn't?_" he said, surprised in spite of himself. "Already?"

"Of course," she said. She patted the notebook that was lying on the tabletop. "How long I would hold out before I left this room to you."

"Those of little faith will be cleaned out?" Mitsuru said.

"Naturally," she said. "That is one of them. Please have some tea."

"Uh, thanks," he said. He sipped it tentatively; it tasted just like the brand Shinobu preferred. "What d'you mean 'one of them'?"

"Well, several pools are currently in progress. Another is who will get the first date with you."

He coughed as the tea went down entirely the wrong hole.

"That one is going quite well. For instance, take Hasukawa's fierceness today a measure of how stunned she is," she added. "She specifically mentioned you were 'so much nicer than Michiru-sempai' after she'd been recovered from your dorm last year."

"Well, she's a cute kid," Mitsuru admitted. He'd been surprised himself at how a small, feminine version of Hasukawa had turned out to be just as sulky, yet somehow more appealing than the original article.

"This is a pleasant vacation for us all from her unrequited obsession with Igarashi-kun."

"Igarashi-kun?" Mitsuru repeated wonderingly.

"_Sou ne,_" Shinobu said. "But our Hasukawa will be back to brooding over him as normal, once Michiru has returned to bully her in the proper fashion."

Mitsuru laughed.

"I assume you have many fans at home as well," she continued. "Michiru is the same, although you have expanded her club in this dorm into a new market segment. Which is why I also ordered that new ladder."

He turned over what all of that meant. He felt his face grow warmer. "Oh, I hadn't, uh."

She allowed him a small smile. "The old ladder is to be retired from service."

"Where is it right now?" he asked, a sudden tight sense of panic at the thought of being trapped in Cherrywood with no escape. The shuffling sounds that followed him down the halls, the mysterious piles of food outside the door when they'd returned, and the revolving guard duty of Shinobu, Shun, and Hasukawa outside the bath and the toilet suddenly struck him in an all new light.

"Under my bed," she said, nodding toward the bunks.

He sagged in relief. "You know, if it had been Shun or Watanabe, no one would even have noticed a difference."

"I'm sure Fujikake would be far happier," Shinobu agreed.

Mitsuru briefly contemplated the residents of Cherrywood room 117, pretty Watanabe and her roommate Fujikake, who had, no surprise, turned out to be the world's most angst-ridden, reluctant lesbian.

Shinobu and Mitsuru looked at each other for a long, long moment. It was the first time he'd caught her eye all day.

"No," Shinobu said, with a small smile, "they are fine as they are."

"Absolutely." Mitsuru drank his tea. Strange, how easily he fell in with this version of Shinobu.

A sharp rap of knuckles on the door, and it opened to reveal a scowling Hasukawa armed with her clipboard, with Shun in the hall behind her, bouncing and waving. "Tezuka-sempai, Ikeda-sempai," Hasukawa snarled.

"_Hai,_" Shinobu said.

"_Haaai wa,_" Mitsuru said, turning to bat his eyelashes at her.

Shun squealed in delight, and Hasukawa blushed deeply. "Shinobu-sempai," the latter stammered, "you know this, this is not--"

"Tell Shun I'll be over in a little while," she said.

* * *

"Michiru." 

"Unnn."

"Michiru."

"Aa-a?"

"Michiru. Time to get up."

"Go 'way," Mitsuru mumbled, curling up tighter under the blankets. "Still vacation, why the hell do I have to get up?"

"To do homework," his roommate said.

"Gaah," Mitsuru moaned, rolling over, and glaring at the eyes at the edge of the bunk. "You're enjoying this too damn much."

"Yes," she agreed, "I am."

* * *

"Rewrite the conclusion," Mitsuru ordered, scrawling a few notes in the margin. Then he rolled up the essay and smacked Hasukawa over the head with it. 

"Ow!" she grumbled, and swiped it from his hand. Then she flopped down at the kotatsu and began to study his notes, chewing on her pencil.

Mitsuru glared at her. "Don't you have your own room?"

"It's not your room either," Hasukawa shot back.

"Read mine next," Shun said eagerly.

"No, he's supposed to do mine next!" sounded the chorus.

Mitsuru groaned. It figured that Michiru wasn't the only one who had put off doing her homework until the last minute. But he had a dour suspicion that she hadn't been quite this popular as a tutor. The entire day had been plagued with drop-ins, but the evening's group had apparently decided to move in.

"Actually, it is _my_ room," Shinobu said quietly. "And I long for peace."

"But Shinobu-sempai--!" came the mass protest.

"Run along," she said, with a gentle gesture toward the door. "Now."

Such a rare request would have brooked no arguments in Greenwood. Mitsuru wasn't surprised when, with a general moan of dismay, the assembly rose and filed out the door with a few grudging looks at his roommate, who serenely ignored them all.

Mitsuru was relieved. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Think nothing of it," she said, without looking up. "You haven't finished your own essay, have you?"

"Uh, not just yet," he admitted, declining to point out that, technically, it wasn't his essay.

Although he'd been working on one identical to it before the break.

Mitsuru sighed and returned to his task. Doing Michiru's homework had proven astonishingly easy, for he'd found all of her books and supplies in the same places he left them himself, although her book-covers featured pretty boys rather than girls, and her cache of smutty entertainment was more yaoi than ecchi. Her trombone case sat over in the corner, and all of his notes were here as well, right down to the small "baka!" scrawled on top of one notebook page with the silly doodled face. He'd done that when he'd been bored in class one day, a few weeks ago.

Weird. Eery similarities.

So, in Greenwood, was Ikeda Michiru sitting at his desk, fending off her admirers, and trying to finish his essay?

And at the desk beside her was Shinobu?

Mitsuru frowned.

Her handwriting even looked the exactly same as his own, with a subtle difference that had been gnawing at him. Her characters tended to slope at a different angle. In looking at it now, it stuck him what was it must be. He assumed she was ambidextrous too, but she obviously preferred to write her left hand. A glance at Shinobu, studiously making her own notes at the next desk, confirmed his suspicion: another southpaw.

Weird. Vast differences.

And yet.

"Mitsuru," she said, looking up.

"I've had enough now," he mumbled. Then Mitsuru began to beat his forehead on the desk.

"What is it?"

"Excuse me. I'm freaking out," he announced. "You're left-handed."

She studied her own hand and its pencil. "You're freaking out because I'm left-handed."

"Yes! I mean, no, but yes!"

"_Sou ka,_" she said, a humoring tone.

"And _that_ is exactly what I mean," he said, pointing at her accusingly. "_Why_ isn't any of this freaking _you_ out at all?"

"What makes you think that it isn't?" she asked him.

He gaped at her. She looked back at him, composed as ever.

* * *

"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked, examining her pencil as she rolled it between her fingers. 

"Out in the hall?" Mitsuru said, puzzled. But as soon as he'd said it, Mitsuru knew that wasn't what she meant at all. "The entrance examination," he guessed.

"Then, yes," she agreed. "You were in the seat behind me. First, the clapping, and then you started _praying._ You even wished me luck -- on a competitive exam."

"But--"

"The good temple child," she continued. "Assigned to be my roommate. You came to understand what a mistake that was, didn't you? I'd explained my reasonable views concerning the election that time, and what was it you called me?" She paused to consider, the pencil rolled. "Oh yes. A villain."

"Shinobu. . ."

"And even then, from you I received charity," she said. "We've never really discussed this."

"We're not even discussing it now," he said. "Because I'm not--"

"Aren't we?"

Mitsuru rubbed the back of his neck, not certain how to respond. A little case of wrong roommate made no difference to her apparently. Shinobu's thought processes moved in mysterious directions no matter what side of the mirror he sat on.

"Long hair is not an advantage in a cat fight," she said, smoothing back the hair in question.

"What?" Mitsuru blinked, unable to follow her train of thought.

"In the library. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and swung me into the bookcase," she said. She flipped her hand over in the air, palm down. "Out for the count. And you?"

"Oh. That," Mitsuru said, uncomfortably. "Decked him, bookcase, same result."

"_Sou ka,_" she said. Then she looked up for the first time, but she had no expression to read. "The same, but not the same. That is why I find this easier to discuss with you, you see."

"Uh, no." He didn't see at all.

"No matter." She shrugged and tossed the pencil onto the desk. "You have admired the scenery for two days. Do you want to sleep with me?"

"_What?_" Mitsuru's jaw dropped.

"You. Me." She nodded toward the bunks. "Bed."

Mitsuru made an incoherent sound.

"Hmm." She frowned slightly. "Well, nod if that meant yes."

He nodded.

"Fine. Hasukawa will do her bed-check in an hour. After that."

* * *

_(chap. 1 of 2)_


	2. Return fare

Mitsuru had always believed "Shinobu" and "nervous" were mutually exclusive terms, any combination of the two being absurd and unlikely as a cow falling from the sky. Now he was forced to wonder about insurance against a livestock deluge. For someone who'd had this bright idea in the first place, Shinobu had been as twitchy as a bomb squad trainee. In fact, when Hasukawa had finally stuck her head in the door and barked out their names, Shinobu's tea had wound up in her lap. 

Good a reason as any to get her clothes off, he'd supposed. It had gone a little better after that. 

No, better than a little better, if he was any judge of this sort of thing. 

But warm fuzzies aside, it had also felt awkward in some fashion he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was a little troubled at how easily he'd fallen in lust with someone he'd only met two days ago. Someone who looked just like _his roommate._

He hadn't really been worried about the wrong name for the wrong occasion, which was also a bit disturbing. As for her, she seemed enthusiastic enough, but hadn't said a word the entire time, which had put a curb on any tendency he might have had toward eloquence. 

So maybe he was in love. Maybe just confused as hell. Maybe not the only one. 

Shinobu definitely wasn't a cuddler. She'd rolled out of bed, shuffled on her robe, and was now rummaging in her desk drawer in the dark. Then she moved to the window, slid it open and propped her hip on the windowsill. 

"Er," Mitsuru said, watching all of this in confusion. 

"Yes?" A scraping followed by a flare of light, as she lit a cigarette. "_Maa,_ cliché," she murmured herself, gently waving the smoke out the window. 

"Er," he repeated. And, more embarrassed, "Are you all right?" 

"Yes. Very interesting," she said politely. "Thank you." She exhaled a stream of smoke into the night air. 

Whatever composure she'd lost before, she'd captured back in spades. But his was draining in a torrent. For him, past responses had ranged from "great" and "wow" and "fun" to "hey, that happens to all guys sometimes," and that last one he really, really hadn't wanted to be reminded about, but "interesting" was an all new -- and not necessarily welcome -- addition to his collection. 

"Look, if you didn't want to, then why--?" 

"I do want to," she said. 

_Hunh?_ That change in tense didn't pass his notice. As she didn't intend to elaborate on it, and seemed to be operating under a different definition of "want to," he thought about it himself. A curious idea began to prod him rather insistently. 

He decided to go ahead and step on it; see if anything blew up. "So why don't you just tell her?" he asked. 

"I tell her every day." She flicked the butt out the window, and the coal arced off into the darkness. After a few moments, the lighter scritched and flared again. 

"Oh." Not quite the boom he'd expected. 

"Yes, oh." 

"You mean in a, a--" he groped for a euphemism, and wound up, lamely, with "--in a Watanabe and Fujikake way?" 

She snorted, clearly amused. But, he realized, as the silence stretched out, she hadn't denied it either. "No, wait a minute. Don't you have, like, three steady g-er-," no, flip it, he reminded himself, "boyfriends?" 

Her silhouette at the window shrugged. _So?_

"Right." He'd have to tell Shinobu he's a slut here, too, he thought to himself with a shaky laugh. "So that makes me what, your guinea pig of the month? The pinch hitter? What the _hell?_" 

"My apologies," she said calmly, "I made a mistake." Mitsuru didn't think she sounded very contrite. Then she added, "But what if you were a substitute of sorts? What do you think you'd say, if you were her?" 

He blinked. Why the hell would she expect him to know? 

When he didn't respond, she said, "I see." 

"No, no you don't," he said. He felt irritated with the whole idea being tangled up in some mess that belonged to that Michiru, who was turning out to be not just a guy magnet but a chick magnet as well. He figured that idiot was probably oblivious to it all. 

Shinobu was still waiting patiently, so he gave an explanation a shot. "Look at this from my perspective, okay? First, I'm a guy. The idea of two chicks doing _that_ is kinda ... well, guys think this is hot. Got it?" 

"Hmm. Understood." 

"But," he soldiered on, "my brain cells are already crispy fried from dealing with the idea of _me_ as a girl. Me as a girl who might even be hot. And adding me-as-a-girl-who-might-be-hot into a scenario where I'm doing _that_, which is definitely hot, with another chick, who is, well, major _also_, is just, just--" He flapped a helpless arm, fanning the air. 

"Meltdown?" 

"China Syndrome. So I'm the last one to ask." 

"Well, I suppose in the end it makes no difference," Shinobu said at last, in that same cool, remote tone. "Get some sleep, Ikeda-san," she said. "Tomorrow you go home." 

"Yeah, whatever," he said, defeated. He suddenly felt deathly tired. He'd be a mess in classes tomorrow. No, classes _today_, he thought woefully. 

"Did you really mean that?" she asked suddenly. 

"Mean what?" 

"That I was 'major also,' as you put it." 

He thought back his babble over this and that, and figured it out. "Well, yeah. Obviously." 

"Thank you." 

Weird. Definitely weird, he thought, lying back. 

"That is my bed." The coal of the cigarette levitated to point upward. "That is yours." 

That settled it; not just irritating, major hot, wannabe-dyke, but also a bitch. Mitsuru climbed out of the bunk, and growled, "Did I mention you're as big a pain in the ass as Shinobu?" 

"I _am_ Shinobu," she reminded him. 

* * *

"Michiru." 

"Unnn." 

"Michiru." 

"Aa-a?" 

"Michiru. Time to get up." 

"Lemme 'lone," Mitsuru moaned from under the blankets. "Why the hell do I have to get up this time?" 

"To go to class," his roommate said. 

"Wha? Class?" Mitsuru sat up abruptly in full panic. 

"Class in your own school," she said. "The holiday is over." 

Shinobu dropped back to the floor, and calmly began to knot the tie of her school uniform. "I would suggest clothing," she added pointedly. "The workmen have come and gone, and Hasukawa and Shun were kind enough to coordinate the necessary distractions." 

"What? Why the hell didn't you wake me up before now?" he said, clutching at the sheets. 

But she was the sort who never bothered to answer stupid questions. 

* * *

Mitsuru balanced on the narrow top of the ladder and eyed the mirror beside him warily. Now he knew how Hasukawa must have felt; he'd been perfectly content to be living without that particular bit of knowledge. 

"So, uh," he said. 

"Go ahead, Mitsuru-sempai," Shun encouraged him happily. "Fall off!" 

"Yeah, okay. . ." 

"C'mon, sempai, do it! We're missing class for this," Hasukawa said. 

"Hey, no one asked you to," Mitsuru snapped at her. "Go to class then." 

"We're not here for _you,_" she pointed out. 

"Oh, right," he said. "Hang on." Like so many things, this had sounded easier in theory than it was turning out to be in practice. 

Mitsuru glanced down, unsteadily, at his audience, in their neat school uniforms. 

Shinobu held up a hand in a parting wave; her expression was saintly. Cute little Hasukawa's was not; she now was smiling up at him in positively evil satisfaction. 

That was when Mitsuru recalled whose foot had propelled Hasukawa back to her dorm last time. _Shit._

"Wait, listen, Hasu--" 

But whatever Hasukawa planned was preempted, because the first class period had ended -- and his Cherrywood fan club arrived in full stampede. 

"Wait, what are you _doing!_" they screamed. 

"No, no, Mitsuru-_sempai_!" they shouted. 

"Don't _go,_ please staaaaay!" they shrieked. 

They collided with the small group around the ladder en masse. 

* * *

Mitsuru laughed hugely. "No way, Hasukawa didn't call _her_ a pervert, too?" He'd had to wait until the day's classes were over to get all the details, but definitely worth the wait. 

"Hmm?" Shinobu glanced up, from unknotting his tie. "Yes, oddly enough," he mused. "But Hasukawa was rather awed by your looks and tended to be easily cowed into submission." 

"Heh heh heh," Mitsuru leered. "I'm that gorgeous?" 

Shinobu shook his head and pulled open his desk drawer. He slipped out a sheaf of Polaroids. "See for yourself." 

Mitsuru leafed through them, feeling a bit embarrassed. She'd struck a series of silly cheesecake poses, flashing a dazzling grin and a peace sign to the camera. 

When he'd done this, he'd gone for lame macho poses. 

"Yo, no one's kicking sand in _my_ face at the beach," he'd said. 

"Of course they won't," Shinobu had agreed. "You're the hero." 

And here she was wearing one of his own shirts, but it wasn't buttoned all the way. "Damn, she's got a good figure," Mitsuru muttered. He frowned, idly wondering what her three sizes were. He had an odd notion, and flipped the Polaroid over. They were on the reverse -- waist, bust, and hip -- in his own handwriting, with "Yo! Pretty hot, ne" written right beside them. 

Mitsuru reddened. "Cute. Real cute," he muttered. 

"Aren't you?" Shinobu agreed, holding out his hand for the pictures. 

"What, I don't get to keep these?" he said, clutching them to his chest. 

"I'll buy you a mirror," Shinobu said. 

"You already bought me one," Mitsuru said, tossing them back on his desk. He guessed he could understand a little why he'd come out of it surrounded by weeping, cursing dorm-mates. Assholes, the lot of 'em. 

Then it occurred to him that, over there, Michiru had flipped over those Polaroids and seen what _he_ had scribbled on the back of one of them. He blushed. She would have just finished tossing them back to Shinobu as well. 

He turned, and began to beat his forehead on his desk. "I'm freaking out," he announced to no one in particular. 

"What, again?" Shinobu said, sounding mildly perplexed. 

_Again?_

Oh. Right. He got it now. _The same, but not the same._

"I tell her every day," she'd said. Last night she'd even resorted to scrawling it on her mirror in tacky, bright-red lipstick, the kind she'd never wear herself, hadn't she? Those poor, oblivious Ikedas, noisily stomping around on the sunny streets, had gotten double-teamed and blind-sided by those undemonstrative, scheming Tezukas who lurked in the dark alleys. 

Figured. 

"_You_ freak me out," Mitsuru corrected himself. "How the hell do you pull these things off?" 

"What things?" 

Maybe it just came naturally to them, a reflex like breathing. Mitsuru sighed to himself, and observed aloud, not for the first time, "Y'know, that Shinobu is a manipulative sod." 

"Mitsuru, I'm Shinobu," he said, looking at him oddly. 

"Which I have just figured out for myself," Mitsuru told him, rather pleased to see _him_ looking confused and off-balance for a change. But he needed to make certain of one thing. "So, did you take any bets on how soon you'd get my delectable self in the sack?" 

For a flicker of an instant, he saw Shinobu genuinely pissed off, but the usual impassive expression reasserted itself. "Of course not." 

"Didn't think you would." Mitsuru grinned at him, pleased, and Shinobu blinked. Mitsuru knew that, back when they'd first met, Shinobu wouldn't have seen anything wrong with that idea. 

Well, he thought philosophically, as she'd been attempting to point out to him, in her cryptic Tezuka way, when you shove the villain and the hero together in the same room, strange things were bound to happen. Mitsuru got up and collected his coat. 

"You're going out?" 

"Yeah," he said, fingering the change in his pocket. "Conbini run. You got any money? Need about a hundred more yen." As Shinobu looked at him inquiringly, he added, "Or you could just come with, pick out a flavor or something, toss in some cigs for part two of that lecture on how 'interesting' I am." 

Shinobu's face was perfectly blank. 

Well, well, Mitsuru thought in satisfaction. He'd not only gotten an opportunity to see Shinobu nervous, he even got to see him stunned speechless. Nice scenery. Vacations _were_ good. 

He waited while Shinobu fetched his coat. 

* * *

* * *

"Tengoku e no Hashigo-dan" (Stepladder to Heaven), volume 10, part 4: _Onna nanka kirai da!_ Dorm-president Hasukawa Kazuya (Suka-chan!) notices a burnt-out fluorescent ceiling light in the hallway while he's doing the night's round of bed-checks. When he reports it, the dorm manager tells him she'll deal with it tomorrow. He gets righteous over her perceived slackitude, and decides he'll get a ladder from the supply closet and change it himself. When he pops the new light in, the sudden brightness in his eyes causes him to lose his balance and fall off the ladder -- he falls _through_ the plate-glass mirror on the adjacent wall into Ourinryou Girls Dorm, aka Cherrywood. All the same dorm residents with the same histories and personalities -- but the genders are reversed. Once they figure out what has happened, the women discover that Hasukawa Narimi (Suka-chan!) is missing. They conclude that she must have fallen through the mirror at the exact same time, in the exact same way. They take the logical steps to rescue her from the all-boy dorm. Ouch. Poor Suka-chan. (Nasu Yukie love! She pens her own AUs and makes 'em canon. Happy holidays. :) 


End file.
